


For a Case

by ckerased



Category: Sherlock (TV), Sherlock - Fandom
Genre: First Kiss, Gay Bar, Gay Club, Humor, Jealous!John, M/M
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2012-01-27
Updated: 2012-01-27
Packaged: 2017-10-30 05:22:43
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 2,260
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/328187
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/ckerased/pseuds/ckerased
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>Sherlock convinces John to come to a gay club with him to get information for a murder case. When Sherlock begins getting a bit too friendly with one possible witness, John intervenes.</p>
            </blockquote>





	For a Case

**Author's Note:**

> Disclaimer: I do not own Sherlock Holmes, John Watson or 221B Baker Street. Not in the slightest.
> 
> Warnings: Some language.
> 
> Word Count: 2,797

When John entered 221B Baker Street, his eyes were immediately drawn to the armchair closest to him. Sherlock sat gargoyle-style in the armchair, fingers steepled, his eyes closed and his breathing deep and slow.

John closed the door behind him as quietly as he could manage and attempted to tip-toe into the kitchen without disturbing the consulting detective.

"John," Sherlock's baritone voice startled the doctor, "I am in need of your assistance tonight."

John stopped walking and turned around to face Sherlock and asked, "What ever for?"

The corners of Sherlock's mouth twitched into a smile for a brief second, his eyes still closed, before he replied, "A case, John." He paused. "It's for a case."

John raised an eyebrow at his flatmate's odd behavior but shrugged it off as Sherlock being his typical, unpredictable self.

"I didn't know you had a new case."

Sherlock sighed at John's obliviousness. "Seeing as Lestrade did not call me until noon, and you have been at work since seven this morning, I did not expect you to have any idea that I had a new case."

John rolled his eyes at Sherlock's smart ass response.

"Alright," he sighed. "How can I help you?"

Suddenly, Sherlock's eyes shot open and he jumped to his feet.

"We can start by altering your attire. Follow me, if you will."

John immediately felt as though he was going to regret agreeing to help Sherlock.

\---------

"Sherlock, I feel ridiculous. Can you please tell me where we're going?"

Sherlock remained silent, choosing to stare out the window of the taxi in place of answering.

"I need to know where you're taking me, Sherlock, and how it could  _possibly_  require me to wear these latex pants."

Sherlock turned to John this time and simply replied, "We're going to a gay club, John. Are you satisfied with that answer?"

The doctor's eyes widened as he stared at Sherlock, completely at a loss for words. Sherlock smirked and returned his gaze out the window.

A few moments later, as Sherlock had correctly assumed, John finally scoffed out a retort.

"How in the bloody HELL will going to a gay club aid you in your case?"

Sherlock resisted the urge to roll his eyes and turned back to face John.

"How could it not? The murder in which I am investigating took place at the club we are going to. The victim was a gay male in his late 20's. He spent most of his time drinking himself into a stupor and allowing men twice his age to take him home for the night. Any more questions?"

The doctor silently shook his head, his mouth still slightly agape.

"Good, because we're here. Get out." Sherlock shoved a couple of folded notes at the cabbie and waited for John to clamor his way out of the taxi.

Sherlock stepped out of the backseat with his usual grace and balance and strode confidently through the entrance of the bar. John quickly and quietly followed, with much less grace.

Upon entering the club (called Electric Six), John was bombarded by an overwhelming sensory overload. Between the pounding of the music, the flashing of lights and the alarming amount of men walking by and rubbing up against him, John was unsure of how to react. Dance? Convulse on the floor due to an epileptic seizure? Run and hide? He was at an utter loss.

John felt a cold, bony hand grip his elbow and drag him through the throng of men. Still slightly dazed, John took a minute to comprehend that it was Sherlock who had grabbed him. The detective led him to a hallway that led to the restrooms and pulled the doctor aside.

"Okay, John, this is what I am going to need you to do. We are looking for men who seem as though they may frequent here. The most likely candidates will be in their late 20s or early 30s and, if they are not chatting up someone, they will be by themselves; which means do not find a guy who looks like he may be here with friends. Do you understand?"

John nodded. "So, I just have to sit somewhere and look out for these sort of guys? What do I do if I find one?"

Sherlock grinned slightly. "I need you to text me and let me know where he is, and I will do the rest."

John sighed and rubbed his eyes.

"Do you  _really_ need my assistance with this, Sherlock? I mean, anyone I find will likely not be someone you are looking for."

"I won't force you to stay, but your assistance could help me figure out who murdered our victim," Sherlock replied, shrugging his shoulders.

John paused a moment to consider what he would do if he went home instead of aiding Sherlock tonight. He would most likely drink tea, watch some telly and then make his way to bed soon thereafter. The most eventful portion of his night would most likely be watching History Channel's special on Hitler.

"Fine. I'll stay," John relented. "But only to make sure you stay out of trouble."

Sherlock smirked knowingly. "You have no reason to worry, John. But thank you nonetheless."

John sighed. "Let's get this over with."

\---------

_Look toward the bar. There is a man who appears to be about 30 years old who is sipping some mixed drink. I think he's just looking for someone to chat up._

_JW_

_I see him. Nicely spotted._

_SH_

John smiled slightly at the sort-of compliment. He picked up his drink and took a long sip, nearly downing half of it. He caught sight of Sherlock about 10 yards away from his table, heading toward the man at the bar. John had no idea what Sherlock was going to do yet, so he watched in silent anticipation, waiting to see what Sherlock had up his sleeve.

The detective pulled himself up to the bar right next to his target and flagged down the bartender. From what John could see, Sherlock ordered a drink and was patiently waiting for it to arrive.

 _'He's probably examining the man's shoelaces to decide whether or not he comes here often,'_  John thought to himself, chuckling at the idea.

That's when John noticed that Sherlock was leaned over and speaking directly into the man's ear. The man smiled at whatever Sherlock said and flirtatiously smacked the detective's arm. John tilted his head in confusion, wondering what was being said between the two.

Sherlock smiled back at the man and placed a hand on his bicep, squeezing it slightly as though he was feeling the muscle there. Both men laughed, and John watched as the man leaned closer to his flatmate, still smiling that damned flirtatious smile.

Something stirred within John's stomach, and he looked down at his drink, wondering if maybe it wasn't sitting with him right.

John returned his gaze to the pair and watched as the man leaned even closer to Sherlock and whispered something in his ear. John's stomach dropped as he saw his flatmate nod, reply and grab the stranger's hand, dragging him away from the bar and onto the dance-floor.

The doctor continued to follow Sherlock with his eyes. The pair made it onto the dance-floor not too far from where John sat, and he watched in horror as Sherlock reached forward and wrapped his arms around the man's neck, pulling him close as they began to dance against one another.

John felt his blood begin to boil.

' _Is this some sort of joke? How in the fuck is this helping Sherlock find information?'_ John grabbed his drink and downed the rest with a quick flick of his wrist.

As the song continued on, the pair on the dance-floor somehow ended up with even less distance between them, which John had been nearly positive was impossible.

_'I'm not so sure Sherlock is acting right now. Why the hell does that piss me off so much?'_

John nearly growled when he went to take a sip from his empty drink. He stood up and made his way to the bar, trying to avoid looking in the direction of the dance-floor.

After a minute, the bartender came around and took John's drink order.

"Quickly," John told him. "I may lose my sanity if I don't get some more alcohol in my system soon."

The bartender raised one perfectly plucked eyebrow at the doctor before scurrying off to make his drink.

John sighed and rubbed his eyes as he awaited his sanity to arrive. He quickly took out his phone and sent Sherlock a message.

_Are you getting any information out of him?_

_JW_

The bartender set John's drink down in front of him and took the note that John held out for him to take.

"Keep the change," he said. "Someone may as well be happy tonight."

"Thank you, sir," the man replied before he ran down to the other side of the bar to take another order.

John glanced down at his phone and didn't see any response from Sherlock. The doctor scowled and took a long sip out of his second drink of the night.

He turned around and looked back out to where Sherlock and the man were still dancing, still somehow closer to one another than they were before. There were no words being exchanged between the two, and that frustrated John to no end.

_'He's not even getting any information! I give up. I'm going to go interrupt their little love-fest; I can't just stand here and watch this any longer.'_

John chugged the remainder of his beverage and slammed the glass down on the bar. He determinedly made his way over to the detective, who was now running his hands through the other man's hair, and shoved his mobile back into his pocket.

When John reached the pair, he grabbed Sherlock's shoulder and basically yanked him away from his partner.

"We need to talk. Now," John growled, no room for argument in his tone.

Sherlock stared at John incredulously but didn't respond.

"I'm sorry to break up the fun, but I need a serious word with my  _friend_ here," John told the man, who looked just as surprised as Sherlock.

John grabbed Sherlock by the hand and all but dragged him off the dance-floor, through the crowd and back out the entrance in which they came. He continued dragging Sherlock until he reached an alley about 20 yards away from the bar. He pulled his flatmate into the back street and pushed him against the brick wall.

"What the hell was all of that about, Sherlock?" John asked angrily. "You said you were here to get information. The only information you have gotten since we've been here is how large that man's biceps are!"

Sherlock spoke for the first time since John had interrupted, a hint of annoyance in his voice, "He told me that if I danced with him that he would talk to me afterward about whatever I wanted, if you must know."

John slammed his hand against the wall beside Sherlock's head, "God damn it! But you were flirting with him when you two were still at the bar together! You were all up  _on_  him, Sherlock. Christ. Have you no shame?"

Sherlock narrowed his eyes at the doctor. "Why are you so angry about this, John?"

John's face lost its angry edge, and he actually looked rather confused for a moment.

_'Why **is**_ _this such a big deal to me?'_

John paused for a moment, trying to figure out why he was so angry about the way Sherlock was trying to get information.

"I'm not sure, Sherlock," he finally answered, looking down at his feet.

Suddenly, John felt cool fingers tilt his chin up.

"I think I know why," Sherlock said. "Are you willing to pay attention?"

The doctor nodded minutely, his heart rate increasing exponentially.

Sherlock smirked down at his flatmate and slowly leaned forward, still staring John directly in the eye.

"Based on the facts that you have laid before me, I have come to the conclusion that you..." Sherlock paused and leaned even closer, "were," and closer, "...jealous."

As soon as the words left his mouth, Sherlock closed the gap between them and pressed his lips against John's eagerly. John was at a complete loss at first, but he quickly relaxed, began to return the kiss, and moved his hands from their previous place on the wall to Sherlock's neck.

The doctor pushed Sherlock even harder up against the wall and began tracing his left hand down his flatmate's chest to his waist. He reached down just a bit further and began fiddling with Sherlock's belt, while still desperately kissing him with as much passion as he could muster. John finally managed to loosen Sherlock's belt and swiftly undid the first button of his pants to begin his next mission.

Sherlock grabbed John's hand to stop him.

"John, we can't," Sherlock breathed heavily. "Not here."

John sighed and moved his right arm to rest on the wall and nestled his head in the crook of Sherlock's neck.

"You're right, of course," John mumbled, his voice slightly muffled by his flatmate's neck.

Sherlock chuckled and ran his hand through the back of John's short hair.

"I have a confession to make, John."

The doctor lifted his head and looked Sherlock in the eye before hesitantly asking, "And what might that be?"

Sherlock grinned slightly. "I'm not on a case at the moment."


End file.
